License to be Killed
by Stars in the Sky at Noon
Summary: "Oh boy. Now I can get my driver's license." What happens when demigods try and get their driver's license? Percy is just about to find out. Can he survive monster attacks, fussy examiners, finicky gods and mischievous spirits to get what he wants? Read and find out!
1. Sunday Drive

License to be Killed

**Hello, my fellow fanfiction authors and readers! It's fairly close to my day of taking a test for my G1 license... One day, I just happened to be reading Mark of Athena. **

**When Jason was talking to Piper about his birthday, he mentioned that because most of the demigods were sixteen (with the technical exceptions of Nico and Hazel), they would be able to get their driver's licenses. Which made me wonder...what does happen when a demigod tries to get a driver's license? What if _Percy_ was to try and get his license? Powerful demigods attract monsters, after all, and demigods and technology supposedly don't mix. Well, now we get to find out!**

**I don't know if anyone else has tried this idea before...but I'm still willing to go for it! If you have any requests or questions/comments, feel free to leave them in the review column. And so, let's find out how Percy's driver's test will start off.**

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**Chapter One: Sunday Drive**

The instructor settles into the car with me, his clipboard ready. Uh-oh—already his face reminds me of Ms. Dodd. Sure, he's wearing this stiff collared shirt and slacks, and has thin, bug-eyed glasses, but his face has sharp, vulture-like features that ring a bell only too well.

"Well," he snivels, wiping his nose a couple times before setting his clipboard on the dashboard. "I most certainly hope you're ready, Mr.…" He peers over the dashboard, squinting at my name on the clipboard. He takes so long that I start to wonder if he needs a new prescription for those humongous glasses. "…Mr. Jackson," he finished with a slight glare in my direction.

That glare makes me nervous. I shift uncomfortably in my seat, and quickly remove my hands from the wheel. I hear that makes you look too eager, and instructions don't really want eager. "Yes, sir," I tell him earnestly.

My tester doesn't show any sign of noticing, only writes something on his clipboard. A rating out of five on my enthusiasm? I try to peer over, but he's a lefty and his hand's blocking my view. That and his writing is _tiny._ No wonder he has a hard time reading.

I almost forgot to introduce myself—though I don't know how happy you'll be with me for it. I'm Percy Jackson. I'm sixteen, and I'm a demigod. But assuming you're reading this, you already know what that is.

Most demigods would be hanging out at camp right now, in the summer, swimming or canoeing or sword fighting or trying not to get burned by the lava pit—all that fun stuff at Camp Half-blood. But for today, that's not me.

Now, I've done tons of dangerous stuff in my life. I've been attacked by Canadian cannibals in a game of flaming dodgeball in my school gymnasium. I've faced an eight-foot tall bull-man who wears Fruit of the Loom underwear. I've induced the wrath of gods and monsters and titans and mortals alike on me—but I've never been as nervous as I am right now, for my driver's test.

My girlfriend, Annabeth, gave me at least a million reminders when she and my mom dropped me off. They were pretty scared, too—but not as much as me, I'm pretty sure.

The whole way, my mom had been running through all the emergency procedures for each and every scenario. But before I went inside to register, Annabeth took my hand and gave me this dead serious look.

"Percy… Be very, very careful." I guess the fact that she hadn't called me _Seaweed Brain_ was an emphasis on how serious she was about it.

"I know." I gave her this goofy smile, which usually gets me off the hook, but she wasn't buying it.

"I mean it. If anything can go wrong, it will, I promise you. Just remember… I'm only a phone call away." She slipped the small, electronic device in my pocket, which made me smile. Normally, demigods aren't allowed technology—especially at camp, but today cell phones were worth the trouble.

"Don't worry, Wise Girl." I planted a kiss on her cheek, but I'm not sure how reassuring that felt. "I'll be fine. It's just twenty minutes in a car. How bad can it be?" Her dark expression answered the question itself, also hinting that I most likely shouldn't be saying something as stupid as that, but I told her goodbye and disappeared inside the building.

Anyway, I'd much rather be dining in New Rome with Annabeth as opposed to sitting in this hot, stuffy car with Mr. Dodd here. Ever since the Greek and Roman demigods made peace, there's been all these epic upgrades made to both camps—Annabeth and her cabin as the architects, of course. I can't wait to try them out—but first; I'd really like to get my driver's license.

Anyways, the tester here pulls out a sheet of directions. "As I understand here," he sniffs, wiping his nose yet again (my mind races as I wonder if he's a monster—is there a monster that has a runny nose continuously?), "You have a dyslexic ability…" He gives me this obnoxious sneer, like he's laughing at my disability. "So I will read the instructions to you, and you must follow them accordingly. Is that understood?"

I grip the steering wheel with both hands, tense. "Yes, sir. Of course, sir." You can tell he really likes that 'sir' title, because he looks pretty happy after I say that—as happy as a vulture can look, of course.

"Very well. Start by pulling out of this parking lot, to the west entrance—from there, we'll turn left."

Finally!

Excited, I turn the keys to start up the ignition and press the pedal on the gas. Just as we begin inching from the starting spot, though, I see something weird.

There's a guy with tattoos standing on the sidewalk, who looks kind of dead-beat and sketchy. He's low-riding his jeans and smoking a cigar…but that's not what grabs my attention. No, what does draw his appearance to me is the huge horn sticking out of his head.

When the car passes he turns around and stares straight at me, all serious and cold. Beady red eyes shine in his irises and I realize his skin isn't skin at all—it's scales, rippling back and forth from the Mist. Swallowing, I try extremely hard not to stare or look like my nerves are totally shot—though I could just blame it on the license test.

Great. That wasn't really a good sign to start off my drive.

I pause at the exit and try to relax. You've gone the first thirty seconds without being attacked, Percy. Just relax.

Well, that was sure a big mistake.

The instant I'm about to pull out and onto the road, a huge mass of jet-black fur bounds before the car. Panicking, I slam the brakes and try not to scream. Holy Zeus! Was that a hellhound just now?

The examiner gives me a disapproving look. "Mr. Jackson! Can you please be more careful—almost hitting a dog, for goodness sakes?" He scratches what are doubtlessly words of criticism on his sheet.

I nod, trying to slow down my rapidly beating pulse. In front of me, the air shimmers and suddenly the hellhound is just an ordinary black terrier, hopping down the sidewalk. But as it turns to glance up at the obstacle that nearly killed it two seconds ago, its eyes gleam like laser-beams, shining red as the Terminator's. And just as quickly it turns into a hellhound again, sniffing the hood of the car suspiciously.

_Uh-oh. _It must smell the demigod blood. I've heard I have that smell—and don't go to the trouble of deodorant or mud or skunks, either. Believe me, I've tried—and sometimes the skunks aren't skunks at all, which gets you in even more trouble.

I hear the examiner talking beside me, but his words come out sounding muffled and distant. My heart is pounding at the thought of that hellhound only three feet from the door.

And so, ignoring what my examiner tells me, I rev the engine and speed out onto the road.

My examiner looks a little peeved, holding on to the handle above the doorway. His glasses have been thrown slightly askew, much to his annoyance it seems, as he pushes them up the bridge of his nose to their proper position. "Well…that was…hasty, but well done Mr. Jackson." Is that just me, or is there a hint of grudging admiration in his voice?

I try to keep my voice from shaking and offer a friendly smile. "Sorry. I…just don't like dogs very much, sir." He gives me a quizzical look, as if wondering why I might be scared of an innocent terrier, but seems to decide it's not important. He's right, of course—what's important is that I'm taking the most important test of my mortal life, while a bunch of monsters are chasing and killing me. At least my examiner doesn't seem to be in that same boat just yet.

Yet…that thought makes me shudder. But I feel Riptide, my Celestial Bronze sword, glow warmly in my pocket, and I almost feel my dad with me. Heck, if I survive this, I might just go for a boating license. So you'd best be on my side, dad. Maybe we could go on a boating trip. I'll drive the car there, you can handle the boat. The thought's so stupid it makes me chuckle, which earns me another stare.

The examiner flips open a page. "Alright, Mr. Jackson…at 36th street, you're to turn right on 5th…" I take a couple deep breaths and try to listen.

I'm a demigod. I've fought Titans hand-on-hand with swords. I've faced impossible challenges and survived the world's literal hell. I've seen people die for me, and almost died for my friends—a zillion times, at least.

There's no way I can't pass a test for my driver's license.

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**Let's hope you're right Percy...**

**Read &amp; Review if you can! Let me know what you think.**

**Peace out!**

**-SITSAN**


	2. How Not to Train Your Dragon

**Chapter Two: How **_**Not**_** to Train Your Dragon**

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**Hello, everyone. I didn't expect to get reviews so fast. I was pleased, nevertheless. This is actually one of my first attempts at humour...something I tend to be very bad with, so I was glad to hear the encouragement. I have exams currently, meaning I can goof off when I feel like not studying and publish FanFiction instead : )**

**Anyways...I haven't done this before either, but I'd like to give replies to the given reviews:**

**Chidsengan: Yet again, you are the first reviewer of this story! *clap clap clap* Congratulations! Whenever I see that cute picture of you and Rasdori, I want to shed a tear. I'm so glad to see you want to read more of it. I will comply with that wish by updating as much as I can this summer!  
And thank you! No matter what you say, you are an amazing author, too!**

**meggymoocow: Good, because I'm really bad at writing funny stuff! It's just really difficult for me _not_ to take anything seriously. I'm glad the test seems accurate. This is mostly based on what I see on television and stuff and what my big brother told me, so I try to keep it real. I don't want to slide into the land of terrible stereotypes. Scary instructors, huh...it must be worse when they end up being monsters...**

**thatcrazyfangirl111: Hi to you too, friend. I don't show you this in school because of the many eyes that swarm us all the time. Besides, it's exams as of now. Speaking of which, did you do well on the recent maths?  
Piper and Jason...I can comply with that request but...*cough*...you want me to put a _gay_ in between them? Erm...I don't usually really do that stuff, but...if that's what you really want to see, I can make it happen. More specifically though...how is it awkward? Do you want Piper to like him, but this...gay guy likes Jason...? I've considered extending this to other PJatO characters, but that idea I'll tuck into my pocket. **

**Sorry if this chapter seems a little messed up in terms of events...I'm actually kind of facing a writer's block already because I've been thinking of what to do for the rest of the Seven's driving tests...but I'll think of something.**

**Enjoy!**

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Following the instructor's words is easier than I thought. Although I have to stare really hard at the street signs to be able to concentrate, numbers have become easier to read than letters—if it's not math. It could be a kind of selective-sight thing, I suppose, but in that case it's not a bad thing.

Anyway, we're cruising down 5th Avenue and I can't help but smile as I catch sight of the Empire State Building. The home of the gods, Olympus.

Yeah, it's weird to think of the Empire State Building as basically my dad's business office. Maybe if I tell that to the examiner guy here, he'll give me extra points. On second thought, he might think I mean Paul…and that would end up as a big mess for sure.

It feels stupid somewhat, but I make a three-fingered sign over my heart—a sign my friend Grover usually makes, to ward off evil. Not sure if it works, but I'm willing to give it a shot. Passing that building makes me… hopeful somewhat. Like the gods are on my side; they'll protect me.

I can't hold back the smile as we drive further along 5th. But that smile gets wiped off like it was swiped with a windshield soon enough.

A loud roar sounds behind us, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Behind me I hear tires squealing and horns blaring. I desperately want to glance behind me, but my sensible side (despite what Annabeth thinks I actually do have one) tells me that taking my eyes off the road would be even worse of an idea with all the chaos going on the road.

Another roar sounds behind me, and it seems I'm not the only one who heard it. My instructor turns with a frown. "Goodness gracious, what is making such a ruckus?"

I peer into the rearview mirror, only to be faced with a set of huge, clawed feet, making me freeze. It almost looks like…it sounds like…like a…

"Is that an _alligator_ that's broken loose?" The instructor exclaims loudly, interrupting my thoughts.

I swallow, thinking to myself in a panic. That's not an alligator—that's a dragon.

A beautiful dragon, but dangerous nevertheless. I finally allow myself to wrench my head around and get a good look at this thing, to be met with glittering rainbow scales, decorated by talons and horns which sparkle like diamonds, only there are plants and vines and ivy practically growing out of it.

The monster's bounding down the street like a hyperactive Chihuahua—only it's ten feet tall and at least twice as long, plus the tail. I watch in horror as it bangs into poles, streetlights, and cars.

I swerve to avoid a tossed car that gets thrown our way, causing the instructor to give a strangled yelp. My impulse is to pull out my pen, run outside and fight this thing, but can I really afford to do that during a driver's test? I can imagine my mom or Chiron, scolding me for getting involved in this mess. That monster's right next to Olympus, I tell myself. The gods will deal with it.

And so, at first I step on the gas, intent on getting away as far as possible before the monster picks up on my demigod scent.

My examiner gives a grateful puff. "My goodness…that alligator is humungous!" He's somewhat pale, with his hand gripping the door handle so tightly his knuckles are turning white. He looks scared out of his life. "I—I hope someone's calling the police. There has to be a way to deal with that monster!" My sympathy is limited. _You think that's hard? Try dealing with dragons._

But then I look at some of the things we bypass. The examiner's right—that dragon's pretty big. Not Scylla the hydra-big obviously, but still. Only then, I see people screaming, pointing, and scrambling to get out of its way. Someone's helping a little girl stagger out of the way of a lopsided car that had been tossed aside by the rampaging creature.

My blood's boiling all the sudden, and I can feel heat burning through me. How could I even consider leaving that dragon behind to rip apart the street?

Before I even realize what I'm doing, I've parked the car safely around the corner, grabbed my pen from my pocket and unbuckled my seatbelt. The instructor stares at me like I'm insane. "What are you doing?" he asks, horrified.

I can't really think of a proper response without completely screwing over the Mist's job, so I give him the truth: "I'm gonna go slay a dragon," I promise him firmly and jump out the door.

Fifth Avenue is more of a mess than I thought. At first, I just see a haze of mist from the burst water main—but then the air before me clears and I see fire, torn-up buildings, cracks in the street and tons of panicking people. There's not too much damage, thankfully—mostly just screaming pedestrians and confused drivers; no one seems harmed. Without a second thought, I race forward with Riptide in my hand, ready to fight the dragon.

I move the water from the exploding pipes with a whisk of my hand across the fire, putting out the roaring flames. I soak a few people in the process, but at least water doesn't burn—unless it's hot.

As I approach, I notice this dude waving frantically at the dragon, just ten or fifteen feet ahead of me. At first, thinking he's a mortal, I go to tell him to back off because he's crazy, but then I start hearing him as he calls the dragon.

"He-looo? Cychreides? Don't ignore me!" He stamps his foot as the monster takes a bite out of another building, causing many screams to erupt from within. "No! I _told_ you that brickwork doesn't count as a snack, already!"

Figuring he's another messed-up monster or something of some kind, since no one else seems to notice him, I walk up. "Um…hi. Is this dragon…yours?" Immortals and their stupid problems. Always letting their pet monster run loose.

The guy faces me and brightens almost immediately. He has sandy blond hair and feverish green eyes, and he's wearing some kind of ancient Greek priestly garb, complete with a green chiton, a belt that seemed to be made out of gold ivy, and a knee-length cloak of some kind—I think it was called a himation, in the old days.

He gives a bright smile. "Ah, yes. This is my prize Cychreides, here!" He quickly looks up and down, assessing me. "Demigod, yes? Excellent! Because he could really use some training right now."

I wave my hand towards the destruction the monster is causing. "Is this…your training?"

The priest's smile wavers and he slumps down a bit, seeming crestfallen. "Not even close. We were _supposed_ to be training for the ODSEM contest…" he glares at the dragon like it's the creature's fault.

I raise my hands, signaling him to stop. "Wait, wait, wait… odd-sem?"

"Yes," he says, waving his hand at me dismissively. "The Olympus Dragon's Spicy Eating Match." He curses under his breath in Ancient Greek. "And this year, I'd sworn we'd beat Ares and his stupid sacred spring guardian the Ismenian Dragon, too! So I put something a little extra-spicy into his food…and now this." He rolls his eyes as another building topples over. "Cychreides, no! That's not gonna help a little mouth-burn!"

It's completely irrelevant to the situation, but I can't help but gape. "The immortals have a contest for eating hot foods using dragons?"

"Oh, I'm not immortal," replies the dragon training priest brightly. "I'm Cychreus! A priest of Demeter—You might have heard of me. I used to rule the kingdom of Salmia?"

Inwardly I'm cringing, trying to think of a legend related to a Greek kingdom Salmia, but I've got nothing. He looks so hopeful, though—and if he can help me with the dragon, I don't want to offend him. "Oh…yes. The great…king…Cychreus. I remember you," I lie. "I just didn't…um…recognize you in…um…"

"What, this?" Cychreus glances down at himself and chuckles. "Oh, yes—that's because I came a priest of Demeter!" His expression darkens, and he mutters under his breath, "After that cursed fool Eurylochus drove me out, that is…"

I decide not to pursue the evidently touchy topic. "Um, well…is there any way to calm him down?" I ask. Cychreus nods eagerly.

"Oh, yes! I _warned_ him water wouldn't help, but that fool simply doesn't listen. _Milk_ is best for spice burns, obviously, but you know how they are—dragons." Cychreus gives an indignant sniff. "If they'd listen to their masters more often, maybe they wouldn't be defeated so easily…"

"Well…I'm a son of Poseidon," I offer. "If there's a…um…milk source, I could try moving it…" I can't keep the doubt from spilling into my voice. I'm pretty sure that I could if I tried, but I've never really done it using other liquids…

Cychreus snaps his fingers, and an overturned oil tanker suddenly turns into a full-on milk truck. The driver stumbles out the wreckage, looking dazed, especially when he sees what his truck's been turned into.

"There," he beams. "Compliments of Demeter, mother of good harvest. Speaking of which, young man, you should come and try our organic foods! Very healthy for a fit demigod like you."

"Um, thanks…but no thanks." Personally, I'm a little freaked out by Cychreus' way of jumping from one topic to another. "I don't think I could…afford it."

"Nonsense," he scoffs, drawing a roll of coupons from the air. "Here you are—coupons for Farms Universal! Also known as F.U.!"

I stifle my laugh just in time as I accept the roll from him. "Um, thanks…I think I'd better deal with your dragon, though. Can you make him face this way and open his mouth?" I beckon towards the milk truck, which begins to shudder as the milk churns to my will. "Careful, you don't want to make butter out of it," jokes Cychreus. "But of course!" He sticks two fingers in his mouth and whistles, sharper and louder than a New Yorker calling for a taxi. "Cychreides, boy! This way, open wide!"

To my great surprise, the monster spins around and does as he says, just as I send tens of thousands of gallons of gushing milk into his sore, red maw. The dragon staggers back, choking, but then finally settles down at the truck drains out.

Cychreus dashes over and pats its diamond horns. "There we go, boy! Now that wasn't so bad, was it?"

The dragon gives a low growl, amber eyes gleaming angrily, but it grudgingly arches down its long, sparkling neck to let its master pat it on the head. Something tells me he doesn't really agree, but at least he's not causing panic on the street.

Cychreus spreads his arms wide towards me. "My boy, how can I ever thank you enough?"

"Um…" I glance around warily. "Well…you could start by fixing the street, I guess."

Cychreus' face falls a little at that, but he shrugs. "Well…unfortunately, that's not really in my power…but then again, I could always ask a little favor from Demeter!" He gives me another sunny wink, and this guy starts to remind me of Apollo, with how charming and all he acts.

"But for now," he cries out happily, "allow me to reward you with more prizes from the F.U.!"

I start to back away, with a hasty, "No, I'm good…" but a shower of coupon rolls and booklets fall over me, burying my feet in a pile of paper cutout-tickets.

Lastly, he brandishes an apple in my direction. "It's much better than you'll get from the city, I promise you," he says gravely. "The poor organic farmers nowadays still raise their crops in polluted, pest-infected areas, with genetically modified plants mixed in their soil! And more farmers, still, use these genetic modifications, or spray their precious fruits with chemically harmful pesticides, which wind up hurting aquatic life!" He leans in towards me with a suspicious grin. "As a son of Poseidon," he hisses, "you should be especially mindful of that." He backs off before I do, jabbing a finger in my direction. "Did you know, that apples are amongst the top ten produce that are most coated with pesticides when eaten?" I didn't realize he was expecting an answer, until he yells at me again. "Well, did you?"

I try to keep a straight face once again. "No, sir, I didn't." Behind Cychreus, his dragon Cychreides gives a grunt and tilts his head, looking as puzzled as I feel.

"Percy Jackson!" Someone sniffles behind me, and I see my driving tester running towards me from behind, which causes my heart to plummet as I realize what I've forgotten: my driver's test. Bracing myself for an immediate F, I turn to him slowly.

He glares at Cychreus, who cheerily waves, his dragon snorting behind him. "What's this?" he demands. "Are you from the zoo?" He squints at them warily.

"Yes," I reply quickly, jumping on the lifeline before Cychreus can respond and start ranting about F.U. and organic food again, perhaps mentioning somewhere in between that I'm a son of Poseidon. "He's…uh…here to take away the alligator."

Thank the gods; Cychreus seems more than happy to play along. "Yes, the zoo!" he supplies with a giggle. "Percy here was just helping."

The examiner gives me a look of what I think might be grudging admiration. "Well…very courageous, Jackson." He straightens up almost immediately and seems to recall that he hates me. "But this isn't a test looking at community service," he snaps. "We're in the middle of a driver's license test—if you don't mind, I'd like to resume."

I only have time to wave good-bye to Cychreus and Cychreides before quickly chasing after my examiner.

"Have fun!" Cychreus chirps. "And don't forget to buy F.U.!" Behind him, his dragon gives a friendly growl before they both disappear in a flash of blinding, sparkling sunlight.

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**The legend of Cychreus and Cychreides is in fact true - one of the few stories I could pick out which Rick Riordan _hadn't_ used. However, there are very few details surrounding that legend, and it goes in two ways:**

**In the first, Cychreus was a hero who slew the dragon Cychreides, which dominated the kingdom Salmia. In this version, the first one intorduced, Cychreus became king after performing this noble deed.**

**However in the second one, which I chose to pertain to, Cychreus was a ruler who kept the dragon Cychreides as his pet. Only one day it went out of control and started rampaging through the city, until a hero named Eurylochus slew it. The kingdom kicked out Cychreus for owning the dragon in the first place, and Eurylochus became king. Only Demeter came along and took in the exiled king as one of her priests - thus, his service to Demeter and F.U. ; )**

**Okay, that's all I have time for now... exams start in twenty-four minutes. I hope you were ready, TCF111.**

**Peace out!**

**-SITSAN**


	3. The Car Gets Hijacked by Birds

**Chapter Three: The Car Gets Hijacked by Birds**

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**I apologize for the wait. My computer was having Internet troubles, and then I had difficulty in uploading this document. However, I am _so _very pleased to see the number of reviews which immediately followed the second chapter!**

**Watching the FIFA World Cup unfold has been breathtaking. I was quite disappointed in Portugal's loss today, but the match between Nigeria and Iran is tough!  
I'm not hear to babble about soccer, though.**

**Responses to reviews:**

**Guest: I am so sorry for not acknowledging your contribution last time; I was unaware of it, but my settings were of modifying reviews...and so yours didn't show up until later. Yes, I plan to continue, and plan to let Percy pass his driving test...unless the audience prefers otherwise.**

**Chidsengan: That's good to hear your computer is working again; I was wondering why I hadn't heard from you in a while. It's good to hear that the character development is carrying along nicely, and better to know that you adore the humour! I am so thankful for your support in so many of my stories, and thank you a million times over! : )**

**meggymoocow: Yeah, if only F.U. really did exist! I'd totally shop there too, if I could walk into the store without laughing : )  
Percy's driving test might have been going well, but it will be taking a couple of unfortunate turns before he receives the final result.**

**Child of the night1481: Thank you for reviewing! It's great to know that you like it so much.**

**isamags2: Haha, well, the next chapter is here! Thank you for the compliment; the fact that you took the time to simply review means so much to me already.**

My examiner must have been pretty frazzled by the whole dragon (or crocodile) incident, because he seems extra snappy as I'm driving. Even though I'm taking the correct turns, stopping at every traffic light, and obeying the road signs, he keeps yelling "Watch it!" or "you almost came close to breaking (insert law here)!" followed by a doubtlessly disapproving remark made with his pencil on my test paper.

So by now, yeah, I'm sweating it pretty hard. After all, I really don't want to have to take this test again and suffer more monsters to deal with. No, better to get over it the first time and be done. We're approaching the West 14th street, where I was due for a right. _Right turns are easy,_ I think to myself. _Left turns are harder; nothing to worry about._

But nothing in my life is ever easy.

The moment we round the corner, an earsplitting screech takes to the air. I whip my head around, tense, but the instructor doesn't seem to notice. Not wanting, once again, to appear as the kid with a serious deranged mental issue (though a couple sadistic people I have in mind might say I already have one) I try to stay cool as well. Maybe they won't notice me.

Of course, I had to imagine that, right? How else might the Fates be able to crush my very tiny hopes? Because apparently demigod scents can't even hide in a car.

In the rearview mirror, I see three shapes swooping and cutting through the New York traffic, like a set of skillful airborne racers. I gulped. I have a feeling I knew exactly what those creatures were—well not precisely, but I still had a pretty good idea it was some kind of bird, based on their shape and colour.

The examiner's still giving me a strange look, as if I morphed into some kind of crazy hybrid being. "Mr. Jackson, if your require a small break from the exam"—

"I'm fine," I interrupt hurriedly. I didn't want him to catch me off-guard like that while concentrating.

I press down on the acceleration, which possibly earned me another point deduction or two, especially if I was breaking a couple of traffic laws or speed limit. I really didn't care right now. Right now, I was focused on more important things—like avoiding monsters and trying to stay alive.

I try to inch forward, but the traffic's clogging. That and the three specks of colour are speedily catching up, wings beating furiously as they sound another battle cry.

No choice. I dig into my pocket and pull out Riptide for the second time that day, pulling over beside the sidewalk. I hope mom and Chiron will forgive me. I know Annabeth won't. But I'm sick of running like prey.

"Excuse me, sir," I say with a polite smile as he opens his mouth to question me. "But there's some business I have to take care of."

It's a good thing I had Riptide.

Because the very instant I step out of the car, my sword is met head-on with a set of tough talons, scraping and bringing a shower of sparks from the celestial bronze blade. I stumble backwards as the attacker flies off with a screech, only to be met with another, similar.

But this time, my brain is focused in hyper drive. Without hesitation I parry the airborne attack, spinning past a cloud of feathers, and cleanly slice the creature in half. It explodes in a shower of sand and dust; both blinding me and making me sneeze. Is it possible to be allergic to monster dust? I sure hope not. The last thing I need is to be armed for battle with a big box of tissues, which would also be mortally embarrassing as well as inconvenient.

I close the car door, praying that my examiner inside would be spared injury, and turn my gaze back the sky to observe my latest set of opponents: griffons. They glare at me with their angry, beady eagle eyes, their powerful lion's hind paws churning in the air. I wonder momentarily if those paws weighed much, while they were flying, and then brush aside the thought in order to charge.

Call me crazy, but I needed a slight height boost—so the only logical thing to do is climb on a car. I hear the driver inside squawk a protest, and horns blaring, but I ignore them and zoned in on the two birds of prey circling me high above.

They seem pretty cautious, since I just turned one of their companions into bird feed. No surprise there. I have to bite back yelling "no fair!" in the sky because it won't change anything at all and the birds would probably just attack me again for making so much noise.

I grit my teeth, trying to remember what I learned about fighting griffons at Camp Half-Blood. They're tricky opponents, because griffons are less driven by bloodlust and more calculative than most monsters. Their well-timed aerial attacks would have to be countered…meaning the only time I really ought to attack the griffon is when they attack me—unless you're son of the sea god.

My gaze immediately darted to the fire hydrant to my direct left on the sidewalk. I pointed my sword towards it, and felt the pipes beneath it shudder.

A loud squawk sounding in the sky makes me turn, then run. The griffons are both swooping towards me again, diving in for the kill. Wasting no time, I leap off the car roof and onto the next, dashing for the security of the water about to burst.

It was beautiful.

The timing was so perfect; you couldn't have choreographed a movie the same way. Just as I hopped off the car roof and somersaulted past the hydrant, it burst with a blinding jet of grey-blue water. The two griffons, their talons extended barely a foot away from me, are thrown back by the impact, and I lose the sight of their flailing feathers and lion legs in the gushing tide. Afterwards, as I let the water pressure relax again, I don't see them at all.

As I stand and dust myself off, returning Riptide to pen form, I look around and realize that almost the entire street of mortals is staring at me. Quickly praying to the gods (or mostly to myself, since the gods don't answer prayers all that often), I hope that the Mist didn't warp the image into anything that made me look delusional.

As I tap on the window, the examiner looks a little dazed. "What…what just…" Is it just me, or do his eyes seem a little foggy?

"Excellent work, Mr. Jackson," he shouts out abruptly, making me jump. You might think that my nerves should have steeled over from the excessive action, but after hearing those griffons screaming in my ear for what feels like a hundred hours over, I really can't relax around loud noises.

"Very good work," the examiner mutters, scribbling something down on his clipboard. "Removing two haphazard birds from traffic." But he gives me a warning glare.

"However, Mr. Jackson, I will not accept any more interruptions to this driving test," he advises with a sour look. "We are to proceed without further interruptions, please—I will not tolerate any more disturbances; I am already late as it is for another student driver." He taps the tiny display on the dashboard of the digital clock, as though serving it as a reminder.

I can't help but smile. If I got brownie points on my driver's test for every monster I've ever slain, I'd probably pass at least three times by now. After all, giants have to count for something extra, don't they?

But I keep this all to myself—he is mortal, after all. I reply with the only response I've known to make him happy so far. "Yes, sir."

"Get in the car," comes the gruff response. But once again, I can practically feel that tingle of gratitude in his tone. All the sudden, I couldn't even believe I thought this guy was anything like Ms. Dodds not even an hour ago. Hiding half a smile, I jog over to the other side of the car and yank the door open.

But in the mirror, I see a shadow; a blur of colour. I catch sight of a beak frozen in a soundless screech.

"Look out!"

I don't even know from who or where the warning came from, but I spring to action almost immediately, as the surge of demigod instinct takes over. Leaping back, I pounce aside as talons rake down the metal door of the vehicle, sending a shower of sparks that graze my skin. I ignore the tingle in my arm as I roll back, and hoist my sword high in the air, but freeze at what I see.

More griffons are swooping in and surrounding the car, until I can't see my instructor inside, or even the car itself—just a flurry of feathers and beating wings amidst the cacophony of screeches.

I can only stare, aghast—cutting down one or two griffons along the way—as they dig their claws into the metal and, wings furiously beating, slowly rise, with the car still caught in their clutches. The metal groans as the griffons continue to ascend, higher and higher.

"No!" I yelled, slashing my sword, only to be repelled by buffet of wind. I watch in horror as the car continues to rise, until it becomes a dot standing in the way of the sun. Beside me, the vibrancy of the street thrums on steadily, unaware of what just happened. A car horn beside me honks, some random mortal driver yelling at me to move out of the parking spot.

Great. Just when I thought that failing this driving test was the biggest of my worries, my instructor has been kidnapped.

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**Exciting? No? Let me know in a review! Next chapter, we'll see how Percy gets along in his new quest: rescuing the examiner!**

**Peace out! **

**-SITSAN**


	4. I Crash A Wedding

**Chapter Four: I crash a wedding (After it was already crashed by ponies)**

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**I'm so sorry to all of you, that it took me over a year to update this story! I had some trouble with writing the beginning part of this chapter. I promise I'm not going to give up on this story, though!**

**Thank you so much everyone for your wholehearted support. Your feedback means a lot to me!**

**WiseGirl5: Thanks a bunch, and I'll be sure to put up more chapters or maybe new stories for the other demigods as soon as I have ideas for them!**

**Chidsengan: Many thanks to you, for always being so kind! (Happy ultra-belated birthday!) I'm glad the humour is working out, because I'm not really a funny person.  
We're all rooting for Percy!**

**isamags2: That is probably the biggest compliment ANYONE has ever given me. Thank you, thank you, thank you! I'm sorry this update took so long, but I'm determined not to let anyone down again!**

* * *

I was certain that I was gonna fail this driving test. I'm not being modest, I honestly thought I would flop—but not like this.

I tried chasing down those birds. Really, I did. But the stupid things fly so fast, even while carrying a car that I couldn't keep up with them. By the time I'd crossed a McDonalds on 8th Avenue, they'd passed over a couple of skyscrapers and had flew out of my sight.

"Crap!"

I throw down Riptide, which pops back into a pen, for some reason, before it hits the ground. "Stupid griffons—stupid test—stupid—demigod—business!"

I'm not really proud of the way I behaved. You should have seen me—kicking lampposts, cursing in Ancient Greek, beating up poor, innocent garbage cans on the sidewalk as if they deserved it. I was so angry that I didn't even notice the odd looks I was getting from mortals passing by on the street—then again, I tend to get those looks _a_ _lot_—it's a demigod talent.

I sit down on the curb, head in my hands. This isn't me. After Smelly Gabe, I promised myself I would never lose myself like that just because I'm...pissed.

I'm not usually like that—completely losing my cool over a stressful situation. But, I realize with a start, this is actually the first time I've managed to get an innocent mortal completely caught in the middle of demigod affairs. It could land me in big trouble—not just with the gods, but if I let something happen to an innocent mortal, I could never forgive myself.

Only when I finally calm down just enough to clear my head, do I actually start thinking. _Okay, Percy. Cool it. Consider your options._

As quickly as I've calmed down though, I'm panicking again. _Options? What options?_ I don't _have_ any options. My instructor just got kidnapped, I've been attacked by monsters all day, I didn't bring my wallet, the griffons took off with the car—

…_I'm only a phone call away._

I pat my pockets, suddenly focused. Annabeth. If there's anyone who'll know what to do, it's sweet, clever, amazing…

Not wasting time kicking garbage cans anymore, I whip the phone out of my back pocket (I'm surprised it didn't get wet or bent after my fight with the griffons) and press a button, lighting up the screen. A little jingle plays as the phone turns on, but all I feel as the phone slowly wakes up is impatience. Can't phones turn on and off faster? I wish they weren't so slow.

After what feels like an eternity, I unlock the phone and search for the call icon. I skim through the contacts, but there's only one, and it doesn't even have a number, just a name—Chiron.

Of course. I breathe out slowly. Chiron must have dealt with this kind of thing before—there are tons of demigods who've gone for their driver's license. Then again, I reflect, I'm not sure if he's been faced with a kidnapped teacher before.

I put the phone back in my pocket—the camp doesn't use phones, it just has one computer. Demigods and technology are like gasoline and fire—whatever you do, just don't mix the two. People are surprised to hear that I don't have a cell phone—but hey, I'd rather have awesome water powers and a sea god for a father instead, right?

Some days I wonder if that's true.

I walk up 8th Avenue, fishing a drachma from my pocket. I know I said I didn't have my wallet, but drachmas can be surprisingly handy to a demigod—for instance, if you need a ferry to the Underworld, or a taxi full of deranged sisters…or an Iris-message, like I'm doing right now. Want to guess which is my favourite?

The three requirements for an Iris-message are light, water, and a drachma—kind of like how a phone needs electricity, a phone plan, and a number. At the end of 8th Avenue there's this fountain I used to pass by on my way to school as a kid (for maybe three weeks, I was expelled pretty quickly). I'm not sure why I remembered it—it might just be a Poseidon-related instinct. It's a little too public for demigod-business, but I don't have a lot of choices here. I can't afford to be picky—and with any luck, the Mist might distract whoever sees me.

In the mornings, I'm pretty sure it used to be fairly busy around here—people headed to school, to work, or wherever they were going. Tourists would stop here and admire the fountain as they rested, or head over to the Columbus Circle. Briefly, I wonder if any of the statues here were automatons—and if they were, whether they'd fought during the Titan War. Taking a quick look, none of them are stuck in weird positions or have been curiously damaged—so I guess not.

But back to the point: the courtyard is pretty deserted at this time. I double-check the phone—time reads more than half past six. My mom and Annabeth will be expecting me back by now—do they know that something's wrong?

I jog up to the fountain and flick the coin towards one of the arcs of water shooting into the pool. "O goddess, accept my offering. Show me Chiron at Camp Half-blood."

Immediately, shimmering fragments of coloured light form an image before me: the archery field. It only takes a moment to search and find Chiron a little ways to the side. He must be in the middle of a lesson.

"Ready…"

"Chiron," I call out, not wanting to disturb them, but he doesn't hear me.

"Aim…"

"CHIRON!" I shout.

One of the archers is so startled that he jumps, his arrow accidentally ending up lodged in Chiron's...I'd rather not say. But let me protest that despite the fact that I can barely keep myself from laughing, I feel sorry for the kid who'd just repeated a mistake of mine from a long, long time ago.

Luckily for that archer, the Iris-message is still running, meaning Chiron can only grouchily stick him with dish-cleaning duty after pulling out the arrow. Iris-message signals aren't perfect, after all—something as delicate as the sun disappearing behind a shadow can break the connection.

Once I recover, my face must have slipped back into despair, because a shadow crosses Chiron's face, even darker than when he got the arrow in his a_ _.

"What seems to be the matter, Percy?" he asks, wincing slightly as his tail swishes with concern. "How did your driving test fare?"

"It's...still going," I croak. "Uh... I think."

Chiron frowns, puzzled—clearly wondering what the heck I called him for.

Quickly, I explain the whole entire mess of a situation: the griffons attacking, how they kidnapped the car with my instructor still inside, and now I'm wandering the streets of New York looking for it.

Chiron grows increasingly worried as my story progresses. "Where are you now?" he inquires the instant I finish.

"Columbus Circle," I answer tiredly. "Right in front of Central Park."

Chiron treads his hooves nervously before giving a great big sigh. His tail is swishing back and forth, and it's pretty distracting...not surprising, considered that I'm an ADHD demigod, after all. For some reason, I'm also suddenly reminded of the time my friend Grover let it spill that Chiron keeps his tail in curlers during the night. No wonder it's so...springy.

"I don't suppose I could convince you to let a rescue party deal with this issue?" Chiron's voice cuts into my thoughts, startling me.

I give him a grim shake of my head. "Not unless I'm on it."

I thought that Chiron would either ix-nay me on the rescue or give in with another heaving sigh, but instead he studies me worriedly. Which worries me even more, since a worried Chiron is never a good sign.

"Percy," he says dejectedly, "is there any way, ever, that I could convince you that you are in no way obligated to rescuing this mortal?"

"It's my fault," I argue. "I'm the stupid demigod who led the griffons to the car."

A strange twinkle lights up Chiron's eyes unexpectedly, and he suddenly seems to de-age by fifty years. But considering that he's as old as mythology itself, I guess he does look good for his age. "Percy, my boy," he chuckles, a hand scratching absently at his beard, "although there are many words I might use to describe you..."

"Handsome?" I offer with a crooked grin.

Chiron frowns. "I was thinking on the lines of...exuberant."

"How about explosive?"

"I was thinking that was closer to Leo Valdez's nature."

"Yeah, but...I'm way more mature than him. Right?" I don't mean to sound too hopeful—but even I would hope that I'm considered more responsible than Leo "Hoopla" Valdez.

Now Chiron looks confused, but the frown goes so deep that the corners of his mouth disappear into that bushy brown beard. "Well...you're more the type to wildly run into the maw of danger without thinking."

"I'll take that as a compliment. Does heroic suit the image?"

I meant it as a joke. But Chiron genuinely smiles at me, and nods in agreement. "Yes, you are," he says warmly. "Perhaps, sometimes a bit too much so." When I keep staring at him like he sprouted a second head, he sighs again. "Percy, what I am trying to tell you is that you cannot blame yourself for every single problem that occurs in the demigod world. You should not hold yourself accountable for this incident...and therefore you should not have to single-handedly absolve this mission by yourself."

I have no idea what the word absolve means. Before I can open my mouth to ask, Chiron starts talking again.

"Very well, though," he says resignedly. "Seeing as you persist on doing this... I think I know someone who might just be able to help you."

Any thoughts of the word absolve and Chiron's earlier speech disappears, replaced by a pure, renewed energy. "Awesome!"

(Around me, the fountain starts bubbling and producing a few random sprays of water; one hits a mortal carrying take-out and she screams, dropping her food. I ignore that for now—I'll deal with it later.)

Chiron glances suspiciously into the scenery behind me, but responds anyways. "You must contact another one of my kin, Asbolus. Last I heard he was in Central Park. He has the power of prophecy, and should be able to tell you where to find your driving instructor."

Two things make me nervous when I hear this. 1) By kin, I have a feeling Chiron means the Party Ponies, who tend to be a little troublesome and kind of hard to deal with, and 2) I've had some pretty bad run-ins with dudes who have prophecy powers—after smelly guys like Nereus and harpy-hacking ones like Phineas...let's just say I've had my fill.

"Er..." Chiron seems to read right through the look on my face. "I can assure you that Asbolus is stable. If he is in any ways difficult, simply inform him that I sent you."

"Okay..." Still not very reassuring where the Party Ponies are concerned—this Asbolus guy might be stable, but the Party Ponies are pretty far from anything but stable. Since when has demigod stuff been considered "stable"?

"Best of luck, Percy." Chiron gives me a tired smile. With a swish of his tail, he ends the connection. The last I see of him is his rump being punctured by yet another arrow—either the Stolls enchanted the bows again, or someone just has really bad (or if it's on purpose, maybe really good!) aim.

I turn away from the fountain with a frown. Usually, when Chiron sends me off on a quest he has this grave look on his face, like the world's gonna end in three days. Then again, whenever he does send me off on a quest, it's usually a do-it-or-die mission with the world at stake. Huh. Funny how I never realized that.

If there was a job application for Mission Impossible, I think I'd pass with flying colours.

I glance into the trees behind Columbus Circle, where Central Park sits almost tauntingly. The branches seem to loom over me menacingly, and even though it's a bright summer afternoon, the trees seem darker and more sinister for some inexplicable reason...

I shake off the feeling. I don't have time to waste. For all I know, those griffons might be peeling apart the car right now, with my Mr. Dodds instructor shaking in the backseat as those birds eye their main course.

I jog past the soaked mortal who I'd accidentally sprayed earlier ("sorry bout that, ma'am!") and insta-dry her clothes with a single touch, leaving the poor woman confused. (This power's actually really convenient—though we get weird looks at the launderer's when we tell them we don't need to put them in the dryer.)

Crossing the street, I dash through the park, armed with my trusty sword-pen.

It's hardly hot outside today, but I'm already sweating. Then again, who doesn't break a sweat after griffon attacks and run-ins with dragons?—not to mention a driver's license test?

The mention of the driving test leads my thoughts straight back to my instructor. The poor mortal's probably scared half to death. I try not to think of Mr. Dodds stuck in the car, snivelling as he tries to stem his drippy nose with a quivering hand—but the more I try to dislodge the image out of my brain, the stronger it seems to get.

I focus on happier things—like _Ms._ Dodds being stuck in the car instead. I'd be tempted to throw her to the griffons myself if she weren't a servant of my uncle Hades.

Around me, mortals innocently chat and walk through the park. There's the occasional tourist, busily snapping photos at one of the few pieces of nature in New York. Don't get me wrong—I love this city, but the truth is that it's not the greenest. After travelling out of the States for the first time, with the Argo II, I discovered how little greenery New York City has compared to a lot of other places.

I don't really have time for nostalgia, but I guess I've always been a bit of a softy (a secret that will remain secret—hopefully). All this nature talk makes me think of Pan, god of the wilderness. And walking around in the park brings back so many memories, like my first ice skating date with Annabeth, or watching the sunset with her on a rock. My days here even wind back to my time with Smelly Gabe—playing in the Heckscher playground, watching old men play chess, chasing squirrels and searching for fish in the pond. My mom has this really embarrassing photo of me when I was four. I was dressed in the most embarrassing shirt with Woody the cowboy from _Toy Story_ on it, sitting in the pond, soaking wet and crying.

My mom loves to embarrass me with this story. She wanted to take a picture of me next to the pond, and trying to be the "big boy", I guess, I went off the path, "conquered" the foot- tall railing, and made this ridiculous pose on a rock. Just when my mom was taking the picture, though, I slipped and fell into the water and started bawling.

Being the superwoman she is, my mom came over and picked me up—soaking wet and all—but of course not before taking a picture. Part of me wonders if she planned to use it to make me behave. _Percy, if you're not back home before eleven o'clock, you can expect to see this photo online. With tags._

Nah.

My mom's way too cool for that—but my friends aren't, so I "accidentally" knock the frame behind the table whenever someone comes over, which is thankfully not that often. I would rather burn the picture, but my mom would notice and get upset.

Only when I shake these thoughts does it occur to me—how the heck am I supposed to find one centaur in the middle of a huge park? Walking up to strangers and saying, "excuse me, have you seen a man with horse legs?" is probably going to give me trouble with the authorities—again.

Turns out, I don't have to look much farther.

I hear a shrill scream—a woman's, from the sound of it. And then there's the sound of shouting, of smashing, crashing, weapons crossing, and more screams, bloodthirsty or terrified. A centaur gallops over the hill, a wild but terrified look in his eyes. Chasing after him is a trio of bronze-skinned, weapon wielding...businessmen?

As they charge across the hill, the centaur screaming something that sounds like a bawdy song lyric, I run up the hill to be met with a strange sight.

Below me is what looks like a wedding gone wrong.

Tables with frilly white tablecloths have been thrown askew, and white flowers have been trampled by feet and hooves. To one side there's a neat white wedding gazebo, decorated with laurel wreaths and flowers, the architectural design consisting of Greek/Roman columns. (I don't really know the difference—you'd have to ask Annabeth.) Red liquid stains the grass—at first I cringe, thinking it's blood, but then realize it's just wine, trickling from smashed jars and being tossed around by drunk centaurs.

_Uh-oh_.

Remember what I said earlier about demigods and technology being gas and fire? Well, centaurs and wine are just as bad, if not worse.

These are not the nice, friendly, even if goofy Party Ponies I'm familiar with—these are drunk centaurs, on a total rampage. A couple of them are wearing bows or ties. One of them has his tie wrapped around his head, and is singing a song in Ancient Greek about women and birds.

Surprisingly, it seems that the wedding guests are putting up a good fight.

One of the bridesmaids has a cornucopia like Piper's, and is shooting deadly pastries at all the centaurs straying her way. Some of them have piled chairs in front of the gazebo as a barricade, and swing Celestial Bronze swords at centaurs whenever they pass by or come close. I even watch in awe as one man, with his suit sleeves rolled up, flips over a table, sending dozens of culinary dishes crashing towards a group of centaurs.

"DIE, LAPITH SCUM!"

I spin around at the scream, only to find a crazed centaur charging towards me, his sword whistling towards my neck. Jumping back, I roll down the hill and out of the way just in time. The drunk centaur isn't nearly as lucky—he trips over a rock and tumbles down the hill, cursing in Ancient Greek the whole time.

"Psst! Under here!"

I turn at the whisper, but all I see is a stained tablecloth. The sheet lifts up a moment later, revealing a cowering centaur hiding under the table. Smart—I just hope the table-flipper doesn't come here anytime soon. Crawling on all fours, I scoot under the table and hide with my new centaur pal.

So much for being heroic, huh Chiron?

"What's going on here?" I hiss. Lowering my voice is totally unnecessary—if anything, I should talk louder, considering how noisy it is around us. It's like I'm back in the cafeteria, at one of my many old elementary schools.

"Oh, I warned them!" the centaur brays, and I'm a little stunned at how horse-ish his voice sounds. It shouldn't come as a surprise—he has _horse legs_—but none of the half-horse people I've met have horse voices (Grover doesn't count; he's a satyr—half goat). "I told them not to come, but they just wouldn't listen!"

I don't want to be rude, but I back up the instant his breath washes over me—what is in this guy's diet? At the very least, I don't smell any alcohol on his breath.

"Okay, slow down." I scoot back a couple inches and hold up one hand. "What's going on? Why are they fighting?"

The centaur in front of me shakes his head. His horse legs are tucked under him in an almost relaxed position, but his eyes are wild with fear. "You're not a Lapith!" he exclaims, studying me suspiciously, squinting. Then his eyes light up. "Aha! You're the demigod!"

"Yeah, I'm a demigod," I confirm. "Hold on—what do you mean by _the_ demigod?"

The centaur grins at me. "The demigod who will stop this battle, of course!"

As if I didn't have enough to do, already.

"Look, I'm just passing through...have you seen a guy named, uh, Asparagus—no! I mean, Asbolus!"

Contrary to popular belief, I'm not so stupid that I'm always mixing up Greek and Roman names for vegetables or meat—it's just that a lot of times, the words come out of my mouth wrong, especially if they're just mentioned in passing. The Olympian god names are enough to remember—but when you go into detail with the minor gods, and all the gods' servants, and all their sons and daughters and famous heroes and famous villains and then their Roman counterparts—the words get mixed up in my mouth, like they do in my mind when I try and read.

At this the centaur straightens up proudly. "I _am_ Asbolus! Reader of prophecy! I see the future in the flight of birds—ow!" As he lifts his head, it bangs against the top of the table with a nasty _crack_.

"The flight of birds? Really?" Don't blame me for sounding disappointed. "Wouldn't something like...I don't know, a crystal ball make sense?"

Asbolus glares at me. "Well, demigod, would you like to teach _me_ how to _properly_ read prophecy?"

Not wanting to upset him, I raise my hands in a peace gesture. "Hold on, just calm down. I didn't mean to insult your...uh...bird-reading skills. First, I have a name, it's Percy. Second, Chiron sent me. Third, I really, really, really need your help with a big problem." I guess I should cut him some slack—yes, his breath stinks, but he's not wrapped in mummy bandages, and he hasn't got a weed-whacker. So far, he's the best fortune-teller I've met.

Asbolus sends me another withering glare—great, just another character of Greek mythology that I've successfully made an enemy of. "Does your problem happen to be any worse than a complete slaughter of centaurs and Lapiths?"

I wince—unfortunately, he's got a point.

"Okay, then. Let's make a deal here." I put down my sword—not the best idea, considering we're in a battlefield, but I don't want to look like I'm threatening him. "How about I help you break up this battle, and then you tell me where my driving instructor is? And swear on the River Styx."

Asbolus is rubbing his chin thoughtfully and nodding, but his face contorts at the last sentence. "Is that oath really necessary?"

"It's just a precautionary measure," I assure him. But I've had some bad run-ins with people who don't keep their word, and the binding oath of the River Styx is always good reassurance.

"All right." Asbolus sighs. "I agree to these terms. I swear on the River Styx."

"Okay. Great." I grab my sword, ready for action. "First tell me what's going on here."

Asbolus turns to the edge of the table and lifts the cloth ever-so-slightly, just enough to see what's going on. "The centaurs were invited to Pirithous's wedding—just like in the Ancient times. That's him, right there. The nasty muscled Lapith bloke." Asbolus points out the guy I recognize as the table-flipper—he's grabbing two centaurs by their horns and smacks their faces into one another. I try not to cringe.

"What are Lapiths?" I ask.

Asbolus scoffs at me. "Don't you demigods know your history? Lapiths are the tribe of people descended from the hero Lapithes."

"Who's Lapithes?"

Now Asbolus looks absolutely offended. "A son of Apollo, and a grand hero himself. He even sired heroes and kings amongst his sons!"

This is not the first time today that I've pretended to know what someone was talking about. It seems like there's a lot of legends I've never heard of are popping up all over the place today. "Oh...um right. Lapithes. Now I know _totally_ what you're talking about." It doesn't look like Asbolus is worried about my education in Greek mythology anymore, though.

"I _warned _them not to go—that history would simply repeat itself again, and there would be slaughter, but noooo. Eurytion couldn't resist a single sip of wine—just a drop, mind you, is enough!—and then he tried to kidnap Hippodamia, the bride. At least she's safe."

He points to the edge of the clearing, where a team of bodyguards/ushers are escorting a shaken young woman in a white gown towards the gazebo. Her wedding train is torn and ragged, and her dress is missing a few laces and flowers.

"Poor thing," Asbolus sympathizes. "Her wedding's been ruined not once—but twice in a row!"

"Okay, let me get this straight. Eurytion tries to run off with the bride, so he gets attacked, and then everyone starts fighting," I deduce.

Asbolus scoffs. "Good heavens, no! We're not _that _barbaric. Once Eurytion drank some wine, the others of course just _had_ to have some. Then when that idiot tried to take Hippodamia, the others wanted their share and started kidnapping the bridesmaids and then the rest of the girls! _Then_ everyone started fighting."

That doesn't sound any less barbaric, but it's probably in my best interest not to insult him any further. "Okay, so how am I supposed to solve this, exactly?"

Asbolus shrugs. "Well, I suppose the root issue is the wine—although if they'd _listened _to me in the first place, this never would have happened..."

I tune out Asbolus' rambling and think. I might be sixteen, but I'm not big on drinking. After seeing Smelly Gabe in action over the years, the dislike for booze kind of sticks. Besides, Annabeth says something about alcohol affecting your brain cells, as if I don't have anything lacking in the smarts department already.

"Okay, then...what's a good cure for being drunk?" I ask, tensing as a Lapith man is sent crashing onto the table beside us.

"Pliny the Elder recommended the head of a deep-fried canary," Asbolus states firmly. I stare at him, waiting for him to start laughing. Or at least say it was a joke. But he looks absolutely serious.

I try not to choke. "Deep-fried canary...um, I think that's fresh out of stock."

Asbolus smacks himself with a cry of frustration. "Of course! You're a _Greek_ demigod, and that was a _Roman_ tradition. Well then, let's stick to something more your style..."

Maybe I should recommend this to the Romans at Camp Jupiter the next time they have a party. I nearly chuckle out loud thinking of Hazel and Frank's faces when I tell them this.

"What was it...ah! Sheep lung and owl eggs? There, that's proper Greek tradition!"

On second thought, I don't think I'll mention any of these hangover cures, _ever_. They're a complete conversation killer.

Asbolus looks at me hopefully, and I awkwardly shake my head. "Sheep lung, owl eggs...gee, I think we ran out yesterday." Besides, Annabeth's mom, Athena, already dislikes me as it is—I don't think she'd appreciate me stealing her sacred animal's eggs to feed to drunk centaurs.

Asbolus taps his chin thoughtfully, then sighs. "Well, if we really must, the ancient Sicilians chewed on dried bull genita—"

"Okay! How about we just soak them in water or something?" I interrupt, not wanting hear any more about Asbolus' old-fashioned hangover cures. "Would that work?"

Asbolus looks a little crestfallen, but immediately after nods approvingly. "Well, you're a son of Poseidon, so I suppose that's only fitting." I don't suppose his powers of prophecy told him that little bit of personal information. But a part of me is a little scared—exactly how much about me does he know?

"Alright." I peer around the clearing. There's a pond just over the hill and down the path, but it's a little too far away for me to drag enough water out. "Hey, Asbolus. Is there any way I can get all the centaurs' attentions?"

Asbolus neighs—I assume he's laughing. "Drunk centaurs? All you need to get them occupied is wine." He lifts the tablecloth again and points into the distance, towards a little miniature fountain. Like everything else in the clearing, it's white, made of some fancy material. Marble, maybe. Little enchanted cherubs fly in circles over it, carrying jugs of wine which cascade down five circular tubs and land in ready goblets.

"I can't carry that. What should I do—smash it?"

Once again, I was mostly joking—but Asbolus is nodding again, as if I've said something very intelligent. "Oh, yes. That would definitely work—they'd all hunt you down, of course, but it would certainly attract their attention." I grimace—being chased by bloodthirsty centaurs is certainly not ideal, but I made him a deal, and I have to complete my end of the bargain—besides, I'd feel pretty bad for leaving him alone in the middle of a battle like this.

An arrow embeds itself right in front of us, and Asbolus hastily drops the curtain. "I hope you know what you're doing," he brays nervously.

"Yeah—and it's gonna get me killed."

It's like jumping into cold water—bracing myself, I count to three, hold my breath, and run out there.

I don't even clear three yards before I'm hit—not by a weapon, thank the gods, but by a piece of flying cake. Wiping icing from my face, I discover a miniature pair of figurines in my hand—the bride and the groom, lips painted in an upward curve. The icing smeared on their faces makes the groom look like a clown and gives the bride a puffy white beard. As another cake layer flies over my head, though, I drop the decoration and run for the fountain.

As I contemplate which is more effective—destroying the fountain by smacking it with a sword, or by water pressure—something swings in front of me. It's one of the cherubs, a floating goblet hovering just below it. With a graceful flutter, it empties its jug into the goblet and waves its hand, sending the goblet spiralling towards me.

"No thanks," I say quickly, backing up. "I don't want a drink."

I think I know now why the centaurs were drinking—these cherubs are easily insulted and even more persistent. This time, when the cherub waves its hand, the goblet crashes into my head. "Ow!"

Spots twinkle in my eyes, but behind them I see the cherub again—now that smile seems more devilish than innocent, as it bats its eyes and offers the drink to me again.

"I'm not thirsty," I say, louder this time. "I just have to destroy the fountain."

Wrong move.

At the words "destroy" and "fountain", all the cherubs pick up their bows, their jugs, the goblets, and the marble roses, and begin chucking them at me. The cherub in front of me empties the wine goblet on my head.

"Hey!"

I swat the air like I'm batting flies, but the cherubs keep coming. In that instant, I make a split-second decision—water pressure.

There's a huge gushing noise that accompanies the explosion. Gallons of wine suddenly burst from the fountain, spraying the wedding guests fighting on the grass, like droplets of rain.

A gaping silence overtakes the field as they all turn towards the source of the noise: exactly where I'm standing. A quick glance shows that the cherubs have disappeared as well. Glancing at the shattered ceramic at my feet, I wonder if they got destroyed too, when I blew up the fountain. A small part of me—really, really tiny—feels kind of bad, though. Maybe they were just desperate for service.

At first, looking around at the shocked Lapiths and centaurs, I think _Whew. Crisis averted_. Then all the centaurs begin charging me, screaming about their wine.

"Cursed demigod!"

"How dare you!"

I think I heard some unflattering words about me in Ancient Greek, but I ignore them and instead sprint over the hill. Flaming arrows, spears, cutlery and wedding cake trails my heels, but I keep running. It's a good thing I know my way around the park, though. It would really suck to run in the opposite direction and end up—I don't know—char-broiled to death by centaurs.

Every so often, I yell "hey, over here!" just to be sure they're still following, but I don't stop running. The stampede is only a couple yards behind me, and quickly gaining ground—

But not quickly enough. Before I know it, the pond is right ahead of me.

Spinning around, my stomach lurches familiarly—and then water rushes out from behind me and crashes into the centaur stampede. Howls and gurgles are barely heard above the sound of crashing waves.

As they current dies down, the water slides back with a small sucking noise and washes back into the pond, leaving drenched centaurs lying on the path and a bunch of shocked mortals looking around in both horror and wonder.

At first I'm tense, worried that the water might not have been enough, but one by one the centaurs start picking themselves up, muttering and staggering a bit unsteadily on their horse legs.

I stand there for a bit, even though there's panicking mortals all around me, until Asbolus comes trotting up the path, looking very impressed. "I'm impressed! Eurytion just came back and apologized to Pirithous and Hippodamia—though the wedding's been cancelled, _again_, hopefully next time they'll have the sense not to bring any wine with them."

I nod, feeling surprisingly energetic, considering that I just plowed an entire pond into a crowd of centaurs. I guess it's just another one of the perks of being a son of Poseidon.

Asbolus is still blabbering on about how well I handled the centaurs. "So peaceful, too—unlike Theseus, who just cut off Eurytion's ears and nose. Or—espcially Heracles," he grumbled angrily.

I stared at him, surprised. "You met Hercules?"

Asbolus gives a dramatic sigh. "How could I forget him? He's the one who killed me!" He eyes me suspiciously. "I assume you're one of those boys who idolize him, the _great Greek hero_." He spits the last three words like venom.

"Uh...not since we buried him under a pile of food." I don't really feel like going into the whole story about the quest involving the prophecy of Seven—or Zoë, a dead Hunter of Artemis and one of the Hesperides...ugh. Never mind.

"Oh, did you really?" the look on Asbolus' face is pure glee. "Oh, was it humiliating? I hope it was."

"Well...he was angry enough that he chucked a pineapple at our boat." I scratch my neck, frowning. _Or was it a coconut?_

"Details, details!" Asbolus exclaims happily, but then stops short, staring into the sky. "Oh... I would simply _love_ to stand here all day and chat, but we made a deal, demigod, and you're running out of time!"

"Oh, yeah." I rub the back of my head with my sword hilt. With a wedding, a battle, and being chased by centaurs how could I have forgotten about my poor driving instructor? Too much excitement in one day. After this test's over (if it's still going), my brain is gonna fry from all this demigod stuff.

Asbolus leans in close to me. Remembering his bad breath, I try not to breathe in as he speaks. "You must go to Chicago," he whispers. "You'll find who you're looking for at Navy Pier."

Chicago? Navy Pier!

I search his face, hoping he's joking—but it seems that centaurs don't have a sense of humour. "Navy Pier?" I say weakly. My voice sounds like I'm being strangled. "But...how am I supposed to get all the way to Chicago?"

Asbolus winks, like we're best buddies or something. "Just as a favour for a friend—good shot on Heracles, by the way, I'm amazed that you didn't even die—you might want to check that McDonalds on 8th Avenue and the 56th west. I'm sure you'll find someone there who can help you."

Something about the giddy way he says it makes me suspect that something's waiting for me there.

Apparantly, burying Hercules in a pile of food was the best thing the Seven ever did, because Asbolus is still prancing from this news. "He threw a pineapple—hilarious! Did you know he was allergic to pineapples?"

"I thought Heracles—I mean Hercules—well, he was basically invincible." Hercules, Heracles—gah. I can stand all these name changes.

Asbolus rolls his eyes. "Well, that was before he became immortal—they gave him the most awful rashes!" He laughs sadistically. "Of course, when he became a god that disappeared—but whenever he sees one, he gets _so_ angry!"

My memory's coming back again and I'm pretty sure that Hercules threw a coconut, not a pineapple now—but who am I to ruin Asbolus' happy moment?

"I'd better get going," I tell him, and an unexpected wave of sadness hits me. I'm at first a little surprised—how is it that I'm going to miss this kooky, know-it-all, touchy centaur? But I swallow the feelings all the same. "Thanks for everything, Asbolus."

"Anytime, son of Poseidon!" he chuckles. "We really must meet again, so you can tell me about this again in _full_ detail."

We shake hands and off I go.

My heart strums nervously in my chest. Chicago...Navy Pier...I wonder who'll be waiting for me—at McDonalds, of all places. I run along the path, past the pond, and back to Columbus Circle. Looks like I have yet another memory to associate with Central Park.


End file.
